Ryan (O'Connor Brothers Book 2)

by A. S. Kelly

  I had no right to treat her like that. To have sex with her and then leave, like the worst kind of arsehole. That wasn’t what I went to the café for, but when I see her…I lose control. And it isn’t a good thing: it’s a fucking nightmare. A huge problem that I have to solve as soon as possible.

  Someone knocks on the car window, making me jump. I wind the window down and say hi, as if I weren’t lurking a few houses away from his own.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks. Straight to the point.

  “I…er…I was…”

  “I warned you. It didn’t take you long, I thought you were tougher than that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

  “I’m not.”

  He walks around to the other side of the car, then opens the passenger door and sits down next to me. “So…let’s imagine you’re not here, three houses away from mine because you don’t have the balls to get caught…”

  “Let’s say that…” I say.

  “And let’s say that you haven’t been a huge bastard to my mum…”

  I swallow loudly, but don’t respond to him.

  “And let’s say that she hasn’t spent the whole night on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, and that I didn’t find an empty ice cream tub on the coffee table. And I’m talking a kilo of ice cream.”

  I stay silent.

  “I found her there this morning when I came home,” he says, sighing. “And I really wasn’t happy, mate.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I told you not to treat me like an idiot.”

  I raise my hands.

  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’m going to go for a walk. I might be back in ten minutes, maybe more…”

  “Look, I have no intention of turning up at your house.”

  “Do you want me to hold your hand? Do you want me to walk you over, protect you…?”

  “Absolutely not,” I respond, overly confident. “But, you know, if you were there too, maybe she…”

  “What a loser,” he says, opening the door and slamming it shut.

  I get out of the car, too.

  He prods his finger against me and says: “This is your last chance, then it’s your problem. I don’t want to get involved in my mum’s life.”

  “So why are you getting involved, then?”

  “Because she doesn’t need you. But you, Ryan – you need her.”

  “Me? I don’t need anything. I’m fine like this.”

  He smiles at me smugly.

  “You’re already fucked, mate. Completely fucked.”

  34

  Chris

  “I’m home.”

  “Hey, where have you been? I’m hungry and I can’t decide what to order,” I stop dead in the doorway.

  “I’ve brought a guest.”

  “Hi, Chris…tine.”

  “Er…I’m going to…do…well, I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “Evan!” I scream after him, but he’s already scampered up the stairs.

  “What are you doing here?” I say, crossing my arms.

  Distance. Lots of distance. Maybe I should go upstairs, too, and speak to him from there.

  “I bumped into Evan so…”

  “You’re not welcome in this house.”

  “I thought I might not be.”

  “The door’s over there,” I say, pointing to it.

  He takes a step forward, as I take two backwards.

  “I’m sorry,” he says in one breath, as if he’d just let go of a huge weight.

  “For what? For fucking me? For running away afterwards like a bastard? For treating me like a…?”

  “For everything. I’m sorry about everything. Apart from…the first part. I’m not sorry about that at all.”

  I feel myself flushing bright red, up to the ears.

  “I didn’t go to the café for that. But then I saw you, and you’re so…” he breathes deeply. “You’re you, Christine. You’re just you.”

  “I don’t get what you mean.”

  “I don’t get it either.”

  “What do you want from me, Ryan? What are you looking for? Another fuck? Because what happened yesterday will never happen again.”

  “I’m not looking for anything in particular. But I never expected to find you.”

  Oh wow. His words hit me, but no – I can’t let myself be swayed again. I need nerves of steel, I have to be tough, unwavering. Anyway, they don’t sound like real excuses – not even close. It’s all just a huge mistake. One that neither of us will forget.

  “Well, I’m sorry that I came into your life,” I say, unable to hide the resentment in my voice. It isn’t easy to keep away tears that are threatening to strangle you.

  “Me too.”

  At least he’s honest, I’ll give him that. But sometimes honesty isn’t the right answer. I’d rather he’d lied. Even a white lie would’ve made me feel better, not made me feel ashamed for what happened.

  “It’s just that I’m not very good at…I’m not a nice person. I’m not easy to be around. I’m always angry, I’m always a dick.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “It’s easier for me to hate people. It’s the only way I know how to live.”

  “Are you saying that you’re a man who can’t fall in love?”

  “It isn’t part of me.”

  “Just like eighty per cent of the male population then.”

  “That’s probably true – even though I think you’ve exaggerated the percentage a little,” he says, trying to be light-hearted.

  Seriously?

  “It works differently for me. I hate everyone. No exceptions.”

  “I’m not sure I get where you’re going with this.”

  “It’s the first choice I make when I meet someone. It’s instinctive.”

  “Has your family never thought of getting you help? Maybe sitting down with a psychologist would’ve worked?”

  He chuckles, then smooths down his hair with a hand, his eyes piercing through mine. He doesn’t hide away like the other times. He looks at me – really looks at me – and I keep my heart firmly stifled down.

  “You…you’re a woman I should hate, Christine. And I’m really trying. But that’s not like me. I don’t normally have to try – hate comes naturally to me, you know?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think I’ll have to call 999 in a minute.”

  He comes towards me, and I step back again.

  “I want to try not to hate you.”

  This conversation is taking a worrying turn.

  “You could try forgiving me for being a fucking bastard.”

  “What’s the point?” I shrug. “We’re not even friends, and I don’t think we ever will be.”

  “I don’t think so either,” he says, a tired smile playing on his lips.

  “I’ve ordered pizza,” Evan pipes up, wandering into the living room and cutting short our argument. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  “Okay, the money’s in my bag.”

  “I got you a pizza too, Ryan.”

  I turn suddenly towards him, glaring daggers.

  “I thought you’d be staying for dinner.”

  “Well, you thought wrong. Ryan was just leaving.”

  “Thanks, Evan, but I don’t think I’ll stick around.”

  “I’ve invited you.”

  “Evan…”

  “Come on, Mum. It’s just a pizza.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but Ryan beats me to it.

  “I’d like to stay, if that’s okay with you?”

  I want him to go away. I never want to see him or his beautiful face again, so that I can stay in control.

  I sigh defeatedly, and raise my hands in resignation.

  Always strong, Chris. Well done.

  “I’ll show you where the glasses and napkins are,” Evan tells him, a bit too happy �
� it’s starting to worry me.

  Ryan follows him into the kitchen and helps him get the plates. He looks around, searching for something, and I immediately know what he wants. “We don’t have a table,” I say, embarrassed.

  We actually do have one, but it’s buried under a pile of crap: documents, paperwork, anything else that we can’t find a home for, but that might be useful one day.

  “We eat on the sofa, in front of the TV.”

  Without commenting, he heads into the living room and helps Evan lay everything out on the coffee table, before trying to decide together what we should watch. Evan wants a horror film, but Ryan doesn’t seem too keen. He suggests an action film and Evan wrinkles his nose – he hates those Americanised shoot-outs, all inconsistent dialogue. They chat, they laugh, they tease each other; and a strange thought that I shouldn’t listen to settles in my mind. I sit down on the stool at the counter, watching them, and I hope…but I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t let myself get carried away with these things.

  I shouldn’t expect anything, because Ryan O’Connor is a cold-hearted bastard, and he’s told me exactly what he thinks of me. Even though he’s here, in my house with my son, that doesn’t mean anything.

  This isn’t his place, and I’m not his.

  35

  Ryan

  “Here are the pizzas, guys!” Chris puts the boxes down on the counter. “Can one of you two get off your arse and come and give me a hand?”

  Her tone is sarcastic, but it has a different effect on me.

  I watch her, so mature and ladylike, then I look at her son, still a boy who could be my younger brother. Then I look down at myself, and think of what my dad says: that I’m not a real man yet.

  Being in this house with them makes no sense. I keep asking myself what I was thinking when I said I’d like to stay for dinner.

  “Let’s just eat them right out of the box,” Evan says, grabbing the pizzas and bringing them through to the living room.

  “But Evan…”

  “What? Do we have to pretend we don’t usually do that?”

  I was wrong. That boy could actually be my older brother.

  “We have…guests,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “It’s only Ryan,” he says, so naturally. The problem is that his words really do sound natural.

  Christine gives in and sits on the armchair, while me and Evan share the sofa.

  “We’d all fit on here, you know.”

  “I’m more comfortable over here,” she says, but I know she’s only over there because I’m over here.

  “But you can’t see the TV from there.”

  “I’m sure you’ve chosen something I’ll hate anyway.”

  “We’ve chosen Begin Again.”

  “R-really?” she asks, surprised.

  “I know how much you like Mark Ruffalo.”

  “That’s not true,” she says, a blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not like I sit there drooling over him, but he’s such a…man.”

  A man. Exactly. That’s what Christine wants. A man. Real, grown-up, mature – someone to take care of her.

  “And you’re the only woman, so it seemed fair to compromise,” Evan adds.

  “Okay, if you want – but I don’t want to hear you complaining.”

  Christine speaks to both of us. I’m in her house for the first time, having dinner with them, and she’s already speaking in the plural. And I can’t decide if it annoys me, or if I like it. Either way, I can say with absolute certainty that it terrifies the fuck out of me.

  “What do you want to drink, Ryan?” Christine asks politely.

  “Whatever you’re drinking is fine.”

  “Beer?”

  “Perfect.”

  She gets up and goes back into the kitchen. I follow the movement of her butt with my eyes – she’s wearing something tight-fitting which reminds me of last night, of sliding my hands over her skin. When I held her, feeling her heat on my fingers. And I think I want to feel it all over again.

  “Can you stop doing that? At least when I’m around.”

  I shake myself out of my fantasy.

  “Stop looking at her arse like that. If she notices, she’ll kick you in the balls.”

  “I wasn’t…”

  “Here you go,” Christine hands me a beer, grabs a slice of pizza, and sits herself back down. She pushes two cushions behind her back and crosses her legs, perfectly at ease – obviously, it is her house – as if my presence isn’t bothering her, despite everything that’s happened between us.

  I lean back against the sofa and stretch my legs out, trying to find the comfiest position. Evan passes me the box and I take a slice of pizza, as he presses play and the film begins.

  Music, dialogue, jokes…I try to follow it all, but I’m distracted. Not because the film is bad, but because my eye keeps slipping towards my right, towards her: so natural and so easy in everything she does.

  So…her.

  “You know the film’s in front of you,” Evan whispers.

  This boy is starting to get on my nerves – but I realise that, if he’s noticed my obsessive staring, she might too. So I turn my attention back to the screen, just as Adam Levine strikes up with one of the soundtrack’s songs.

  Please don’t see… Just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies… Please see me… Reaching out for someone I can’t see.

  And my mind, my eyes and all of my nerves are focused, once again, on her. Because I realise that she’s right about who I am: a little boy, spoilt, immature – someone you can use for a night or two but who, in the end, has nothing else to offer.

  Even though I felt something, even though I believed that she mirrored exactly what I’d been trying to hide in myself, it’s not enough. It won’t help me forget the past, go back to who I was, take a chance.

  I can’t take that chance.

  Not even for a woman like her.

  But are we all lost stars tying to light up the dark?... Are we all lost stars trying to light up the dark?1

  She shines everywhere. But she can shine on her own, because she doesn’t need anyone else’s light; definitely not mine, which is so dark and sombre that it could swallow her up.

  Maybe we really are just two lost souls. Maybe she needs to find her way, to escape, while I can’t do anything but pull her back, then leave her alone.

  We can’t be anything.

  We can’t shine together.

  As Christine takes the leftovers through to the kitchen, Evan starts to chat to me.

  “So, you’re kind of famous.”

  I can already tell from his tone that he’s taking the piss.

  “I’m just on the team.”

  “I don’t care about rugby.”

  “Have you ever tried?”

  “It’s not easy when your mum spends all day at work and no one can take you to training.”

  “And…your dad?” I try.

  “He’s MIA most of the time. Someone else who’s always busy.”

  “There’s no one else in your family…?”

  “Who? My grandparents? Mum doesn’t like asking for help – I thought you knew that.”

  I watch her for a moment, then turn my gaze back to him.

  “You could come along and watch one of our matches,” I say, without thinking.

  “Mmm.”

  “I could get you some tickets, if you wanted to bring someone.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Maybe on Sunday? We’re playing at the Aviva.”

  “How would I get there? Mum’ll be working.”

  “I could ask my brother, Nick,” I say instinctively. “If your mum doesn’t mind.”

  “Mum?” he calls to her. “On Sunday I’m going to watch Ryan play.”

  She turns around suddenly.

  “I’m going with his brother.”

  “Are you telling me or asking my permission?”

  He scoffs. “Can I go?”

  “We’ll talk about it.”


  Evan nods at me to say that he’ll be there, then starts to head upstairs – but not without one of his pearls of wisdom.

  “It’d be better if you went home. You’ve already got away with too much for tonight.”

  I shake my head, amused, but the boy was serious – so serious that, as he climbs the stairs, he gestures with his finger that he’s keeping an eye on me. And I know that he really is.

  I collect up the glasses from the coffee table and take them into the kitchen.

  “You can just leave them there on the counter, I’ll sort them out tomorrow.”

  I clear my throat. “Thanks.”

  Wow. I’m taking some really big steps here. This time I said it without even needing the paper bag.

  “It was just a pizza,” she shrugs.

  “Also for forgiving me.”

  She turns to me. “I haven’t.”

  “So why did you let me stay?”

  “For Evan. He invited you, and I didn’t really fancy telling him that you fucked his mother before walking out on her.”

  Here we go again.

  “Christine…”

  “It’s bed time, Ryan. In our separate beds.”

  “I didn’t stay for that,” I say, offended.

  Why is it that when I try to be nice, no one understands me? “I stayed because…”

  “I honestly don’t care why. You said it, right? It’ll never happen again and we can’t be friends. So I don’t see why you’re here.”

  This time I accept it without fighting. She’s right, and I don’t have the energy to argue.

  “And as for this match on Sunday…”

  “It’s just a game.”

  “I don’t like whatever this is between you two.”

  “Relax, okay? I just invited him to the stadium, and my brother will be with him – unfortunately for me, he doesn’t miss a match. It’s nothing, honestly.”

  She looks at me, furrowing her brow.

  “I have to talk to him about it. And his father.”

  Hearing her talk about him again makes my stomach turn.

  I don’t know who he is, but I already hate him.

  “So…have a good night.”

  “Goodnight, Ryan.”

  I turn away, take my jacket and step outside. I walk the few metres separating me from my car and slide inside. I glance back quickly at the house and, with a heavy weight on my chest, I head back to my apartment – to my comforting silence.